


Not Crying on a Sunday

by Prepare_For_Death



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, F/M, Human Pennywise (IT), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angst with a possible happy ending, im horrible, im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prepare_For_Death/pseuds/Prepare_For_Death
Summary: Richie Tozier is kidnapped by Robert Gray, also known by his stage name, Pennywise the Dancing Clown. Gray has quite the fascination of fear, along with games.





	1. Drive

**Author's Note:**

> SO the summary is an awful monstrosity to everything, but I guess if it sparked your curiousity enough, you're here, right? So basically there will be the idea/some tidbits hinted to the SAW series in this, (POSSIBLY), except Gray doesn't do anything for twisted justice . . . Read at your discretion!! I'll update the tags whenever I see fit. Feel free to comment! Thank you! (sorry)

Eddie 4:00 pm

Richie was supposed to pick Eddie up in ten minutes for their very first date.

Eddie had already hurled twice, and was debating on hurling himself into the sun next. It was Richie, Eddie loved Richie, he was his friend, his best friend. Everything would be fine. Eddie took Stan’s advice and tucked in his polo and stared at himself in front of the mirror. He had already gone through four other shirts.

He thought of Richie, perfect Richie. His hair long and messy, but he still managed to make it look good. How his dark eyes glistened beneath his massive glasses whenever he got into a rant about something he loved. How he threw his head back when he laughed, and when he really laughed, how the tears welled in his eyes and trailed into his dark lashes. He thought of Richie’s sharp cheekbones, and how his face was spattered in an array of freckles. Almost as though a painter had airbrushed them on. 

Eddie untucked his polo and ran his fingers through his slicked back hair, messing it up. He checked the time, Richie should be there any minute. Richie was late for most things, but he promised he wouldn’t be late for this. Richie broke a lot of things, especially boundaries and bones, (his own of course), but if there was one thing Richie didn’t break, it was his promises. 

Discarding the polo entirely, Eddie replaced it with a thin sweater Richie had gotten him a year back for Christmas, (along with a variety of mixtapes). Semi satisfied with his looks, Eddie sprayed on cologne, (nearly causing him to choke), and then sat by his window, staring outside awaiting Richie’s cherry red, (‘Cherry Pie,’ as Richie dubbed it, before giggling like the child he was), pick up truck. 

The truck was old, older than himself, messy enough to send Stan into a frenzy, and smelled strongly of cigarettes, weed, but mostly Richie. And for that, Eddie loved the old car. Eddie glanced at his phone again. Richie was late. 

Something twisted in Eddie’s stomach. What if it was all a sick joke? What if Richie didn’t actually like him and was playing some sick game? Eddie pushed the thoughts aside. Richie liked him- he wouldn’t mess with Eddie like that. He started pacing, Richie was only five minutes late at this point. Richie was usually late, it was fine, he wasn’t being stood up. 

Eddie walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth once again, sure to leave the door open in case Richie pulled up. He went through the whole process, exactly two minutes of brushing, then he flossed and used mouth wash. Still no sign of Richie. His phone vibrated from his bed. 

He was 99% sure he’d never moved so fast in his life. Eddie was on his bed in a matter of seconds. It was a text from Bev. 

mother: use protection;) 

Eddie tossed his phone back onto the bed and rolled onto his back. Maybe he should try texting Richie. Eddie covered his face with his arm. No, Richie would be there- he just got caught up. Eddie grabbed his laptop and sat down on the chair besides his window. He pulled up Netflix, surely Richie would be there soon. 

One movie in, Eddie began to lose hope. It was 5:30 and starting to get dark out and he still hadn’t heard anything from Richie. He shot him a text in desperation. 

dont call me eds: hey we still on for tonight?

Eddie was three quarters of the way through his second movie when he checked his phone once more. 

dont call me eds: hey we still on for tonight? Read 5:45 pm

It was in that moment that Eddie started to break down. He closed his laptop and set it down on his desk before pulling off his shirt and replacing it with a sweatshirt. He changed his nice pants for pajama pants, and pulled on fuzzy socks. He shouldn’t have been dumb enough to think that Richie actually liked him. Eddie plugged in his headphones, opting to avoid any of the numerous playlists Richie had made him over the years. He started listening to anything, anything he could find that didn’t remind him of Richie. Somehow he ended up listening to Donna Summer, and Richie hated her and disco for the, “Unnecessary murder of rock and roll.” Certainly the music Richie hated wasn’t helping. Eddie shoved his phone off of his bed and pulled the covers over his head. He was humiliated. He felt the tears well up in his eyes. How could he have been so dumb? 

Richie  
3:50pm 

He had received not three, but four different pep talks from the other losers in regards to his date with Eddie. Yet there he was, pacing his bedroom feeling like he was going to throw up. Richie had headphones on and he was blasting Bon Jovi as he paced, he fingered a cigarette. As much as he wanted to smoke, he knew that Eddie hated it. 

Richie paced into his bathroom and glanced at himself in the mirror. He had gone for ripped black skinny jeans, his (mostly clean checkered Vans), a navy blue v-neck, (that hugged in all the right places if he didn’t say so himself), he of course wore his rings, and to top it off, he wore a black beanie to try and tame his mess of curls, (even after Bev had taught him to pull it back, sometimes it still had days where it had a mind of its own). He walked out of the bathroom and sucked in a breath before grabbing his keys and sliding on his leather jacket. 

As soon as he made it into Cherry Pie, he felt the incredible urge to vomit. It was Eddie, Eddie was his friend, and he loved him more than anything. It was an early dinner date, followed by a movie, it would be fine. Richie popped his knuckles before putting the keys in the ignition. 

He started out his driveway, blasting Twisted Sister and finding it slightly hard to breathe. He was almost on the road when he felt something slam into the side of his truck. Panicked, Richie shut off his music, put the car in park and threw the door open. A bloodied man was leaning against the side of his truck. “Oh my god,” Richie quickly got out of the car. “What happened? Are you okay?” Richie mentally scolded himself, no shit Sherlock, of course he’s not okay. 

“Hospital,” the man groaned, “P-please help me.” There was no one around, and his parents surely weren’t home, and the man didn’t look like he would be able to wait for an ambulance. Unsure of what to do, Richie helped the man, supporting his weight on himself and leading him to the passengers side. He quickly got into the driver's seat and pulled out his phone. 

“Okay, I’m gonna call 911, but we’ll start out there. It’ll be okay, I promise, just hold-” 

“Give me the phone,” the man snarled, his voice was no longer winded and wispy, it was sharp and angry. 

“What?” Richie whimpered, his chest tightened. He couldn’t get a good look at the man due to all of the blood and torn clothing. It looked as though he had been hit by a truck. Richie’s eyes were wide. 

“Give me the fucking phone,” the man held out a gun below the dash, aiming it at Richie’s stomach. He quickly dropped the phone in the man's hand as the tears welled up in his eyes. “Drive.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Richie whispered, he was going to be shot and killed in his own car in his own driveway. 

“I said drive,” the man barked, cocking the gun. Richie backed into the road, “Left.” Richie followed the man’s every direction, driving away from his house, his friends, from his safety. 

Richie didn’t speak, not until they were three miles past Derry’s welcome sign. “Where are you taking me?” There were no cars in sight. There was nothing he could do. 

“Drive.” So Richie did, he noted the guardrails on the side of the road, all it would take would be a sharp right. At his speed and the trucks weight/size, the rails would break. And they would go spiraling over the ledge, maybe at this point that’s what he needed. 

Without any form of warning, Richie swerved the car to the right, pushing the gas all the way down. The first thing he heard was the gunshot, then the horrendous sound of screeching metal on metal. Richie’s head struck something hard and all he saw was void.


	2. Let the Games Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, thank you for your lovely comments! I wasn't sure if this would get a response because it is quite dark as heck- or it will be. Sorry I couldn't post sooner! Everything is super hectic with college auditions. I also am sorry I did not respond to the comments, I will be more Johnny on the spot here on out. I'm hopefully going to update once a week . . . But who knows I am me

EDDIE

Once Eddie woke up from his unintended nap, he found that it was already midnight. Groaning, he picked up his phone from the carpet. He had thirteen missed calls and 23 missed text messages from the past hour. His phone began vibrating with a call from ‘mother.’ 

“Bev, what’s going on? I’m pretty sure you guys blew up my phone.” Eddie’s voice was thick with sleep and he could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Eddie, thank God, are you okay?” Bev’s voice sounded strained, as though she had been crying. “Where have you been?” Eddie’s eyes were surely open now.

“In my room, sleeping. Is everyone okay? Bev, what’s happening?” Is Richie okay? His heart was clawing its way into his throat. 

“Did you go out with Richie tonight?” the words caused Eddie to fall silent. Despite the placebos his mom had been feeding him for years, he felt the need for his inhaler. 

“No, he never showed up, and he didn’t respond to my texts,” Eddie sat up, his stomach churning dangerously. “Is he okay?” Eddie put his phone on speaker, not caring if his mom heard, and opened up the text message he had with Richie, the last message was from Richie, and it had been sent five hours ago.

nuisance: bite, fight, starve, carve, grave

Eddie stared at the text, he couldn’t move. “We can’t find him,” Bev whispered, “His truck is missing. There was blood in the driveway, but no one knows where he is. I got a text from his phone about an hour ago, Eddie, all it said was ‘die if you try.’ I thought it was some dumb ass joke but he sent texts to everyone else. And now he won’t respond to anyone’s messages. I’m worried that something happened to him. This isn’t like Richie at all, he may be a dumbass, but he would never do this to us.” 

“He’s probably fine, probably drunk or high or something,” Eddie pulled on his boots and tugged on a jacket. He didn’t believe the words that were slipping past his lips faster than the tears slipped down his cheeks. His cheeks still stung where he had cried earlier, over a boy who was possibly in extreme peril. “Did you call Stan and Bill? They can drive around. We’ll find him. He’s probably just fucking around.” Deep down, Eddie sensed it wasn’t fine. 

~ ~ 

Bill had picked Eddie up within ten minutes, Ben and Bev were with him, while Mike and Stan were together. “We’ve checked all over in Derry. We can’t find his truck anywhere and his parents knew nothing, like always.” Bill leaned his head against the headrest and sucked in a breath. “I think we’re gonna have to drive out of town and look further.” It reminded Eddie painfully of when little Georgie had gone missing. Bev shot Mike a text as they began driving away from Derry. And he couldn’t help but feel that they were driving away from the answer. 

“Damnit, Rich, where are you?” Bev whispered softly, she clutched her phone in her hand hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. Eddie wasn’t sure that anyone was supposed to hear. 

RICHIE 

His head was pounding, as though someone was hammering an ice pick into his forehead. He painfully brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep on the floor of the garage again, although he couldn’t remember his parents fighting last night. Maybe he was in some Febreeze commercial. 

It was frigid, and the ground beneath him was hard. Richie cracked his eyes open, there wasn’t an inch of his body that didn’t ache. 

He could hear the distant sound of buzzing. A dim light flickered above his head, the light burned his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, he couldn’t remember anything. Slowly, Richie pushed himself onto his elbows. “Fuck,” he repeated, his voice, hoarse. It smelled awful, like must and shit, definitely not his garage. And if it was a Febreeze commercial, he was not going to waste his money. 

His clothes were torn and quite bloody, what he could see of his skin was painted purple and black with bruises. Gashes, some still with glass wedged in them littered his body. Richie’s head was swimming, cloth, that looked like the bottom half of his shirt, was tied tightly around his upper arm, although that didn’t stop the blood from trickling through. A thick metal shackle was around his left ankle, chaining him to the ground. 

The man in the driveway. “Fuck, fuck, no,” Richie sat up all the way despite the aching in his ribs. He pulled backwards, causing the shackle to tug and pinch him. He was stuck. The pain was worsening, although it didn’t compare to the fear settling in his stomach. 

“Kid, or should I just call you fuck?” A voice rang out causing him to jump. He turned in the direction of a woman who was sitting against the wall, she was also chained to the ground. “Try and stay calm, he wants to see you scared.” Richie opted to ignore her and continue looking around, there were no windows, and there didn’t openly appear to be any doors. Two other men were chained to the walls opposite of him, along with a second woman, only looking slightly older than himself. 

“Where am I? Why am I here?” Richie felt the tears well up in his eyes, but he wouldn’t cry. He wrapped his aching arms around his body protectively- it was cold. Richie didn’t cry in front of anyone- his father beat that notion into him. Richie thought of Eddie, he probably hated him, not that it really mattered since Richie would probably never see him again. He closed his eyes tightly to fight the tears.

“No one knows why any of us are here. We were brought here when we were unconscious.” A man spoke up, he was tall and bulky, and looked like he could take Richie down in a matter of seconds. The fact that he was brought down by anyone terrified Richie. 

“I want to play a game,” a voice echoed through the room, causing the hair on the back of Richie’s neck to stand up. “I want to feel your fear as your eyes lose their light.” 

“This isn’t some bullshit Saw wannabee is it? It’s a fucking movie!” The same man shouted, a hysterical laugh followed. 

“No, no, of course not, the players here, they don’t get a chance. This is level one, good luck.” The voice cut out, casting a silent veil over the prisoners. Richie started giggling, it was all a dream, that or a big fucking joke. Maybe one of those comedy shows where they scare the shit out of people. The giggling morphed into full fledged lung aching laughter. The others started yelling up at the voice. Richie started coughing, blood splattered the inside of Richie’s elbow, that shut him up. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” he could barely hear the others talking over the sudden ringing in his ears. He watched as part of the wall shifted, and spun. A secret door, how comical. The low growl was enough to send chills down Richie’s spine and cause the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. The ratty paw was the first thing Richie saw, followed by the massive body of a mangled wolf. 

It’s lips were parted in a snarl, baring yellowed fangs. It was covered in more mange and grime than fur. There was an unnatural hunger glinting in the yellow of its large eyes. Its ribs jutted beneath the stretched skin. Drool dribbled from the parted lips, splattering on the cold cement. The door shut again and no one could move. 

It wasn’t a fucking Febreeze commercial.


	3. Well Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just stating from here on out, it'll be gory and sweary, read at your own risk. One of my goals is to become a horror author but something I've found is that I am unable to get people to read my horror unless it's a fanfiction. So here I am for now. Thank you for reading! I got to update a lot sooner than I assumed because a snow storm yesterday had me out of school for two days. Quick question, I have a story that is technically Beauty and the Beast esque . . . . It's a similar story line but different characters and it's basically Grimm fairytales on crack? But I don't know if this site is a place I should post it on? It's failed mercilessly everywhere else. Thank you for reading!

Chapter Three 

RICHIE 

Now, Richie wasn’t a vet, that was for fucking sure. But he was one hundred percent convinced that there was something severely wrong with the beast staring at them. No one moved, Richie glanced around for something, anything to use as a weapon. 

A metal pipe lay feet away from where Richie was chained. One of the men burst into pitiful cries, and the wolf was on him in seconds. Richie threw himself towards the pipe, his fingers brushed the ground about a half a foot away from the pipe. The bone chilling sound of gurgled screams was enough to make him want to throw up. He stretched for the pipe, pulling hard on the shackle, he could feel it cutting into his ankle. 

The harmony of screams and the underlying growl was enough to make Richie pull harder on the shackle. Tears pricked his eyes as he reached for the pipe. “Please,” he whispered, barely audible, at one last attempt, he pulled on his ankle hard enough for it to pop and explode in white hot pain. A cry slipped past his lips. 

Richie glanced up in the direction of the man who had been occupying the wolf. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, the wolf was approaching him, deep growls vibrating in its throat. “No!” Richie cried out as sharp claws slashed across his back. Richie rolled over, the movement causing the wolf to recoil then re approach, its paw swiping the pipe closer to Richie. He grasped the pipe and swung it at the direction of the wolf’s head. The metal did nothing but piss off the wolf. 

“Stab it!” he could faintly hear someone’s voice shouting at him. Richie thought of Eddie- who liked to talk about dogs, wolves in particular. He thought of how upset Eddie would be, the little animal activist, if he knew that Richie had just struck the wolf. “Fucking stab the thing!” Richie could see the people around him, screaming and crying, all except the corpse with the stomach ripped open. One of the women held her throat as ribbons of blood spilled from between her fingers. He didn’t even know their names. 

For the first time in years, outside of the safety and confines of his own bedroom, Richie started to cry. He could hear his father screaming at him, his hand striking Richie’s cheek, although it might have been the wolf. And in that moment, Richie thrust the pipe through the roof of the wolf’s mouth. He felt fangs gouge his hands. He began stabbing the pipe at anything he could reach. Tears rushed down his cheeks as cry choked him. An extreme weight collapsed on his legs, but he continued to stab. 

He stabbed for his life, as though it would give him a family that cared about him. A family that would remember his birthday and sometimes made breakfast. A family that loved him. He stabbed as though it would make up to Eddie the fact that he completely abandoned him. He stabbed as though it would stop him from hating who he was based off of what his father or bullies at school claimed. He stabbed until his arms ached too much to move.   
“Kid, it’s dead,” a woman whispered, her voice was hoarse from screaming. Richie glanced up at her, she had dark brown hair pulled into a messy bun and she wore a blue shirt, but that was all Richie knew for sure without his glasses. She appeared unscathed. But the woman besides her lay stiff. The massive body of the beast lay atop of Richie’s legs. “You’re okay.” Richie tried pushing the beast off of him, trying to ignore the pool of blood. Frustration and claustrophobia hit him, he couldn’t move. “You’ve got to stay calm.” 

“I can’t get it off,” Richie whimpered, trying again to push it, but he was too weak. 

“You’ll be fine, my name is Cara,” Richie glared at the woman. 

“Listen, I get what you’re trying to do, but there’s two dead people and we’re all gonna die and it doesn’t matter,” Richie knew he sounded like a dick, he didn’t care. He painstakingly tried to pull away from the wolf. He tugged one leg free. “I’m Richie.” 

“We’re gonna get out of here,” the man said, “And James, by the way.” Richie felt sick to his stomach. He’d never seen a dead body in his life, now two sat across from him. He fell silent, he watched the as all three pools of blood joined together on the cement floor and swirled into the drain in the center. 

By the time he got his final leg free from the deadweight, the body was cold. Richie dragged himself away from the corpse, the pain of his ankle was unbearable, he slowly lay down in fetal position. He didn’t take long to break. He heard the woman crying as she spoke of her husband. Richie watched the blood from his wrists drip onto the floor. He started drawing pictures in the reddened dirt. 

“This is exactly what the sick fuck wants. He wants us scared shitless.” James stood up, he was looking around. “We’ll get out of this. Richie, sit up, I’m going to throw you my shirt. Try and wrap up your wrists and soak up some of that blood from your face. The pipe broke when you were stabbing the wolf. Try and make a splint with the pipe and the rest of the fabric. Cara, look around for anything we can use to get out of this fucking place.” Richie didn’t move as the shirt fell inches away from him. He didn’t want to move. “Richie, if we want to get out of here, we have got to work together. I’ve got a little girl at home, and I’m gonna see her again. I’m sure you have family and friends out there. You’ll see them again, but you have to sit up. You’ll bleed out if you don’t put pressure on the wounds.” Richie pushed himself into a sitting position, everything was blurry, worse than it normally was for lack of glasses. He took the stained fabric in his hands, Richie brought it up to his cheek and pressed down. 

He always thought he was strong, he was the shoulder to cry on out of the losers, he always thought he knew what fear felt like. Who wouldn’t be afraid living in the same house as his father? Yet here he was, more afraid than he had ever been in his whole life. He was going to die. He was going to die whether it was at the hands of a wolf, or some other twisted game. Richie thought of all of the things he wouldn’t do.   
He wouldn’t kiss Eddie, or get to tell him that he loved him more than the sun and the moon and all the stars combined. He wouldn’t go to prom or graduate and go to college. He wouldn’t escape Derry and start a new life far away from his abusive parents. Richie was seventeen years old and he was going to die in the confines of a shitty smelling room at the hands of a madman. For one last time, Richie allowed the tears to spill down his cheeks. 

EDDIE 

It was five in the morning when the group decided to head back to Bill’s house. They had found nothing. Richie’s phone was radio silent as well. Stan and Bill had made eggs and toast for everyone, but no one could eat. 

“Do you think Richie would just run away? He had a rough home life, maybe he got sick of it and left. Maybe someone took his phone and is just fucking with us. It wouldn’t be the first time that Richie lost his phone and it’s not like he kept a passcode on it either.” Ben offered, he took a bite of toast, “Bev, you said it yourself, he talked about running away when he was high before.” 

“Ben, Richie also talked about being able to talk to animals when he was high. He knows that he can always come to anyone of us whenever home got rough. I’m going to the police to report it. Even if he did run away, he still needs help.” She stood up and grabbed her jacket, she had large bags under her eyes. They all did. “Richie wouldn’t leave us like this. Not on purpose.” 

“Bev, it might be smart if we try and get some sleep first, I don’t think any of us should be driving after not sleeping all night.” Stan offered. Bev shot her one of her award winning glares, something normally directed at Richie after he said something especially crude. 

“Fuck you and your sleep. I’ll sleep when Richie’s safe.” She kicked up her leg, “That is what I have these for. So you guys can come with me, or you can stay and take a nap.” She opened her mouth to say more, but a phone buzzing stopped any conversation. Eddie grabbed his phone off of the counter. 

nuisance: three is a crowd, dont you think? 

There was an image attached to the message. Eddie continued to press on the downloading image as the other losers surrounded him. Eddie let out a petrified cry as the image finally downloaded. The image was of a cement floor with, three different pools of blood swirling down the drain in the center. The phone buzzed again. 

nuisance: try and die, cop will pop

Two images were attached to this message. One being an image of a gun sitting atop a metal table, surrounded with bullets. And the second was enough to cause Eddie’s phone to slip from his fingers. 

It was without a doubt, Richie. He was laying on the ground, his clothes shredded and covered in blood. His ankle was tied with what appeared to be a shirt and splinted with metal. A massive shackle was hooked to the same ankle, chaining him to the ground, only giving him about five feet of space. His hands and forearms were wrapped up with the same fabric as his ankle. One of his arms had a bloody cloth wrapped around a wound. And he held fabric to his face. Richie, who was normally tan, looked pale, his eyes were screwed tight, and it was obvious he had been crying. In the dirty cement he had written in blood. 

Sorry.


	4. Kill. Killed. Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, I have not posted in literally forever . . . I have honestly been sick since the first week of February and I just kinda gave up in literally everything. BUT I am possibly getting better, (lmao who knows), so I decided to do some writing! Also I have finally put in my deposit for school so I guess it's official . . . College. Initiate cry. Thank you for everyone who stuck by me! I'll try and update more often I promise!! 
> 
> Also, I guess I should warn for swearing and gore, but like, my pals, if ya made it this far you gotta know

RICHIE

Richie had long stopped screaming, he had also long stopped feeling. He sat there, staring at the massive corpse of the wolf. His stomach growled, he of course hadn’t eaten anything since he was supposed to meet Eddie for dinner and a movie. “Look for anything that can break the chains. Richie looked around him, all he had was the gory pipe. 

“Three’s a bit of a crowd, don’t you think?” The haunting voice rang out, “You have two hours to take one from three.” 

“No one is going to kill anyone, don’t worry.” James was standing and pacing, well as well as one could who was chained to the floor. Cara stood up as well, pushing on the walls, as if that would get anyone anywhere. Richie decided to stay on the ground, as discreetly as he could, he pulled the pipe closer to him. He wouldn’t use it, no, but he did not want anyone else to.

“What do you think he meant by two hours?” Cara asked, anxiety was laced into her voice. 

“He’ll probably kill one of us, that or all of us.” Richie shrugged, he still felt nothing. He no longer felt scared. It felt like he was losing part of himself. He felt both pairs of eyes fall on him. Richie heard James’ footsteps stop. 

“One of you are unlike the others.” The voice returned suddenly before being cut off with a loud beep. Richie leaned his head against the wall, and closed his eyes once again. His head was pounding. 

“Does that mean one of you are working with him?” James’ voice sounded tense, there was a venom in his voice, 

“Why are you so calm?” Cara’s voice lost all anxiety, and instead was replaced with accusation. “Do you know what’s going on in here? Why we’re here?” she started looking around in a panic. 

“Yes, I kidnapped myself, purposely drove my car through the guardrail just for shits and giggles, dragged my unconscious ass here, chained myself to the floor, and had a rabid wolf attack and maul me just for entertainment purposes. My ankle is most likely broken, and I’m probably bleeding out, but damn,” Richie almost cringed at the sarcasm of his own voice. “What can I say? Mutilation is a kink of mine.” 

“It’s not a fucking joking matter,” James snapped, his voice was oddly similar to Went when he got angry, moments before punching Richie. Instinctually, he cringed to make himself smaller. The obnoxious static broke the silence, and suddenly there was the haunting sound of a small girl crying filled the air. 

“Daddy!” the voice sounded broken. James fell to the ground, shaking. “Help!” The sobbing was cut off, and replaced by a man crying out. 

“Cara, baby,” his words were coming out choked with sobs. Cara froze, pain evident on her face, tears trembled from her eyes as the voice was replaced once more.

No words were spoken, just a pained cry, it was short, but Richie would recognize the voice anywhere. Richie sank his teeth into his fist to stop him from crying out. The voice was none other than Eddie Kaspbrak. His cry was cut off and the familiar haunting voice was back. 

“You three will decide who dies, or I will. One hour fifty minutes.” He let out a laugh, one that echoed through the room, sending chills down Richie’s torn back. He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from shaking. The fact that Eddie, his Eddie, was hurt, was enough to bring tears to his eyes once more. The sound of metal releasing filled the room. All of the shackles released and fell to the ground. Richie was filled with fear and dread. The sound of a clock ticking replaced the sound of laughter. 

“That was my baby girl,” James whimpered, “She’s only seven years old.” Richie opened his eyes at the sound of movement. “Maybe we can get out of here and save them all.” Richie watched as James felt the wall where the wolf had come through. He thought of Eddie in his position, hurt and scared, what if the sick bastard released a wolf on him and he wasn’t the one closest to the pipe. What if he ended up with his organs spilling out or his throat shredded. “Richie, give me that pipe.” Richie froze, Cara was staring at him, he looked down at the pipe that had saved his life. He realized how easy he would be killed, a bad ankle, already bleeding out. They would never save Eddie if he were to die. They would be more focused on their people. 

“That’s not what he said we should do,” Cara stood up, she swiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not letting Ian die because you aren’t playing the game right.” James fist hit the wall, Richie scooped the pipe up in his hands, he pulled himself up and used the wall as support. The room was spinning around him. 

“I’m not killing either one of you,” James stared at her in shock, “I just need my baby girl to be safe.” The sound of all three of the hostages crying filled the room. The pipe slipped from Richie’s hands as he tried to block out the cries. The sound of Eddie crying was enough to cripple him. The clock ticking matched the pounding in his head. Somehow, Cara ended up with the pipe, still stained red by the blood of the wolf. She held it up like a bat, her eyes were wide, accusing. 

“It’s nothing against either one of you,” Richie could barely hear her over the screams, he was mostly relying on reading her lips. She looked like a terrified version of Harley Quinn. James had tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands were up in defeat, the screams and cries got louder, and the sound of an alarm blared, marking the one hour mark. Richie could no longer think, he crumbled to his knees, covering his ears once more to try and block out the piercing cries. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting more than anything for it to end. 

He leaned down, pressing his head to his legs just as he felt something crumble above him. Panicked, he opened his eyes just in time for Cara to swing the pipe once more. She was going to kill him. James was still at the wall, he mouthed two words to him before looking away. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re already hurt, you’re already dying. I’m sorry.” She had tears in her eyes, Richie scrambled away, scanning frantically for anything he could use to protect himself. He ducked as the pipe was swung towards him. He dropped to the ground and rolled onto his shredded back. He kicked out his uninjured foot, and managed to get Cara in the gut. 

Eddie. He couldn’t die because he had to rescue Eddie. 

Cara crumbled for a matter of seconds, allowing Richie to kick the pipe from her hands. “I can’t let Ian die.” She sounded winded, all of the sounds around them seemed to be far away. The only thing he could hear was Eddie. His laughter. Him talking to him softly. He thought of how his eyes sparkled when he laughed, and how his eyebrows scrunched up when he was playfully annoyed with Richie. “Ian is all I have left.” Richie was brought back to reality when Cara’s hands clamped around his throat, cutting off his air. 

If he died, so would Eddie. Richie couldn’t bare the thought of Eddie dying. Dying scared and alone.

His lungs were already crying out for air. A choked sound escaped his throat, black spots swarmed his vision, Richie clawed at any skin he could possibly grasp before slamming his knee into Cara’s groin as hard as he possibly could. She released her grip, allowing for Richie to fill his angry lungs with air. Still choking on air, Richie caught the pipe in his shaking hands. Without giving Cara enough of a chance to catch her groundings, he swung the pipe at her chest, in order to knock the wind out of her. Richie pulled himself up once more, “No one has to die,” his voice was hoarse and his throat ached. Part of him really wondered how much more his body could handle before he keeled over. Cara was already getting up, claws out, reaching for the pipe. 

He had to. 

Richie swung the pipe, this time aiming at Cara’s head. The force sent Cara tumbling to the ground, her eyes were glazed open. Blood was already pooling from the gash on her temple. Her chest was no longer moving. The pipe fell from Richie’s grasp, his heart dropped into his stomach and bile rose in his throat. Panic coursed through him, replacing the adrenaline. He fell to his knees, “Oh, fuck, no, no,” he tried shaking Cara slightly, he was trembling too much to try and find her pulse. “No, please wake up.” Hours prior, Richie had never seen a dead body. Now he had killed someone. Someone died at his hands. He was thankful he had the sense to turn away before he began vomiting the remaining contents of his stomach onto the floor. 

The sound of the screaming was cut off by the sound of a bullet. Richie’s heart fell as Eddie’s scream fell silent and the sound of a body hitting the ground echoed through the room. Richie’s lips parted to cry, to scream, to shout at anything- but no sound could leave mouth. “You were two minutes too late.” The room fell completely silent. Eddie was dead, Richie was going to die, he just killed a woman, Eddie was dead. The love of Richie’s life was dead and it was his fault. 

Richie slowly slid to the ground and curled into a fetal position, he covered his face with his bloody hands. His eyes were dry.


	5. Highway to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments truly are what make me wanna write, I honestly love it. Thank you all so much! I wasn't sure if anyone would be interested in a fic like this. It's pretty tough to write and the support makes it all the easier. 
> 
> Just a forewarning there are mentions of death, the classic violence/gore, swearing, (aka the classic Emily*) but there is also mentions of 'suicide' just to thicken the plot

Chapter Five

Richie 

He felt something nudge him in the side, jolting him awake. “You okay, Rich?” Richie felt the air get caught in his throat at the sound of Stan’s voice. He sat up, he was sitting a desk. His body was free from any form of gore or bandages. “The bell rang, you don’t wanna keep Eddie waiting, do you?” Stan gestured at a paper on Richie’s drool covered desk. “We also got-” 

“Wait, Eddie’s okay?” Richie felt like crying as Stan stared at him like he had four eyes. 

“Besides the fact that he said yes to being your boyfriend, yes, he’s fine. Are you?” Stan’s expression shifted into something like concern. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, just had a nightmare,” Richie rubbed his eyes, “Let’s go.” Richie stood up, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. He couldn’t remember going to school, let alone how he got into his physics class. He couldn’t remember anything. 

He killed someone.

Richie crossed his arms over his chest protectively. It was only a dream. He followed Stan out into the hall and towards the cafeteria in a dream like daze. “You’ve ignored every single one of my texts all day.” Eddie elbowed him gently in the side on sight, he kissed him gently on the cheek before recoiling. “Are you okay? You look sick.” He started sifting through his messenger bag. Richie grabbed his hand with a smile. 

“I’m fine, I’m just tired,” Richie leaned down and kissed his forehead, it all felt right. He wrapped his arm around Eddie’s lower back. 

He couldn’t remember their first date. 

They were nearly at their table when Eddie stopped dead in his tracks. “Hey-” Richie froze in horror upon seeing Eddie. Two trails of blood slipped from his nostrils. “No,” Richie whispered, he cupped Eddie’s pale face in his hands. His eyes were glassy, and they were no longer in the cafeteria, but the cement room with no windows or doors. “Eddie, no, please.” Eddie’s lips parted, allowing for blood to slip past his lips. 

“Richie,” His voice was hoarse, a bullet hole shredded the center of his throat. Blood gurgled and bubbled past his lips. Richie tried to support him, as well as pressing his hand on his throat to stop the blood flow. 

“Eddie, please, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me. I love you.” Tears slipped past his eyes, spilling onto Eddie’s face, Richie slowly slid to the ground in order to support Eddie more. Tremors racked through his body as he tried to suppress sobs. “Eddie, I love you more than you could ever know,” he leaned his forehead against Eddie’s, his body was growing cold. He closed his eyes, choking out a cry as Eddie’s chest stilled.

“Fuck you!” Richie cried out, slamming his fist into the solid earth. A scream tore past his lips, echoing through the room. “You piece of shit, I did what you wanted!” His fist hit the ground over and over, until he could see the bones break through the surface of his fist. He still held onto Eddie’s chilling body. He brushed the hair off of his pale forehead, leaving yet another trail of blood on his soft, gentle face. 

“You killed me, Richie.” Eddie’s voice croaked, his glossy eyes rolled back into his head, and he sat up, turning towards Richie. He scooted backwards until his back hit the wall. Eddie’s head cocked to the side as his lips curled into a gruesome smirk. “It’s all your fault.” He shifted towards Richie, his feet dragging on the ground. “You’re next.”   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Kid, wake up,” Richie threw his fist before opening his eyes. His fist connected with something hard. His already sore hand was now throbbing. Richie sat up and backed away from James. His eyes were puffy and swollen. 

“Back off, bitch,” Richie snapped, he was searching for the metal pipe when his eyes fell on Cara’s corpse. A series of coughs slipped past his lips, jarring his aching body. James rubbed his jaw before putting his hands up in defeat. The room fell silent except for the sound of Richie’s ragged breathing. He glanced around for Eddie. “Don’t touch me.” His throat was sore and raw, probably from crying. 

“I couldn’t let my little girl die. You have to understand that,” Richie ignored him. His stomach growled in pain.

“How long was I out?” Richie muttered, he reused to look at James.

“Quite a while, I fell asleep and when I woke up there was water and matches.” Richie looked up, his mouth suddenly painfully dry. How long had they been trapped? Hours? Days? James came over slowly, holding a single bottle of water, it was half empty. “I split it in half,” he gestured at a bowl over by the wall before handing Richie the bottle. “Don’t drink it too fast, you never know when we’ll get more.” Richie made eye contact as he drank all of the contents of the bottle. “We need food,” James ignored Richie. 

“Why, Sherlock, you have certainly cracked the code of basic human survival.” Richie’s throat ached as if he decided to gargle broken glass, maybe that was part of the game as well. James’ eyes landed on the corpse of the wolf, which would most likely start decaying at anytime. He shook his head. 

“Absolutely the fuck not,” he let out another painful bout of coughing. He wouldn’t have to worry about starving to death at this point, he’d probably die of some illness first. 

“We’ll starve to death, besides, we need to keep our strength up, especially you. We’re going to get out of here.” James tossed Richie a matchbox, containing a single match. Richie watched as he scrambled around, collecting anything that may possibly be flammable, and placed it before Richie. His chest tightened when he realized his metal pipe was strapped to James’ side. He approached the corpse. “Try and get a fire started.” 

Richie wanted nothing more than to argue, but he felt himself beginning to give up. There was nothing to contain the fire. There was no way for the smoke to escape their hell. Death would be inevitable at this point. He struck the match alongside the side of the carton, he embraced the warmth dancing dangerously close to his fingertips before dropping the stick into the pile of rubble. The flame licked a piece of fabric, slowing creeping towards the ground. 

As soon as the flame touched the ground, it began to spread, Richie made no attempt to move, nor stop the fire, he just sat there and watched. “Richie, what the fuck?” James grabbed Richie and dragged him away from the fire and up against the far wall. He was between two dead bodies. 

James began trying to stomp out the fire, but it was spreading quicker by the second. It was almost on Cara. “There must be lighter fluid all over this place.” 

Eddie 

“All of the pictures and texts are gone,” Eddie was scrolling through his phone, all of the messages from Richie’s phone were gone. “It’s like they were never here.” Eddie’s eyes were welling up with tears. 

“We’re going to find him,” Bill said, although his voice wavered slightly. 

“You don’t think he was just fucking with us, do you?” Ben cracked his knuckles looking away, “I mean, hell, we still don’t know, it could have have been anyone who had stolen his phone, and it could have been anyone in the pictures. Richie isn’t the only lanky mop haired guy alive. Bowers and his gang easily could have set this whole thing up. This wouldn’t be the first time they tried something this big.” 

“Ben, that doesn’t explain why we can’t find Richie anywhere.” Bev crossed her arms over her chest. “We’ve looked everywhere.” 

“Stan and Mike might find something at Richie’s place, it might give some sort of explanation. We can’t just assume the worst case scenario, or we’ll all drive ourselves mad,” he grabbed Bev’s hands, “He’s Richie.” 

The door to the kitchen opened, causing all of the losers to freeze on the spot. Stan and Mike’s faces were tear stained, their eyes puffy and glossed. The two were covered in rain splatters. Stan held a soggy letter in his hands. He gently set the letter down on the table before the losers before retreating back towards Mike. The two said nothing. 

I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry. I just can’t do it anymore. -Richie

Eddie read over the line over and over, until the words were burned into his eyes. It didn’t explain anything. Why he would do it. Why he wouldn't go to anyone of them for help. The pictures and text messages they received that suddenly disappeared. Nothing made sense. Eddie slowly slid to the ground, hugging his knees tightly. Why would he leave him? 

“No, he wouldn’t have done anything. You don’t think-” The kitchen door opening halted Bev mid sentence. A tear stained Sharon Denbrough stood in the doorway. 

“Richie’s truck was fished out of the ocean today. It was completely totaled.” Her voice was quiet, wavering. She placed a zip lock bag on the counter. Inside was Richie’s soggy wallet, as well as his shattered and now waterlogged cell phone. “They were unable to find his body due to the shattered windows and . . . ” She cut off, wiping tears away from her cheeks and sucking in a breath, “Due to the circumstances of the location of the cliff, they’re ruling it as a suicide. I am so sorry.”


End file.
